


The Twelve Days of Mystrade

by celticvampriss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, mystrade, seasonal inspriation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticvampriss/pseuds/celticvampriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Christmas song.  Mycroft and Lestrade get gifts through the twelve days (years) of Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BubbleGumLizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/gifts).



> Christmas gift for my longest, best friend. ^_^

_On the first day of Christmas my true love game to me…_

In truth, Greg Lestrade had not done it intentionally. He had been in Mycroft’s acquaintance only a short time. Enough to catch the gist that whatever strain of genius afflicted Sherlock was, to some extent, a family trait. But not long enough to have cause to peer any deeper than “Sherlock’s highly influential brother with the umbrella.”

And so, Greg had not read too much into it, he’d read nothing at all, in fact, when he had let Mycroft use his mug for his coffee.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem.”

Mycroft had run his thumb over the painted letters of ‘World’s Greatest D.I.’ “I shall return it to you promptly, after I’ve had it washed, of course.”

“Nah, there’s no need. Just keep it.”

Mycroft had.

To this day.

_…one coffee mug._


	2. Chapter 2

_On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

It was ludicrous, really, how much Mycroft had truly and totally bumbled it. For all his fine words and considerable vocabulary he had been undoubtedly done in by just three.

Gregory had taken it in his stride, of course, though he had missed the point entirely. Mycroft had retreated, defeated and resigned to let things be. What did admissions and declarations matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? He was happy. Gregory was happy. There was no need to further complicate anything.

Mycroft had berated himself anyway. Though he had been determined to forget the entire affair the next time he saw Gregory—

“Yeah, about what you were saying the other day.”

Mycroft had nearly flinched. “Why don’t we just forget it ever happened? I would very much like to continue with things as if I hadn’t made a fool of myself.”

Gregory rubbed at his cheek, nodding along, but obviously distracted. “Yeah, well, you see I was going to say, that I had planned on saying, I do too.”

“I…I don’t catch your meaning?”

“Right.” Gregory was floundering, looking every bit as flustered as Mycroft had been the day before. “You see, what I meant was, if you had gotten out your piece, then my answer would be…” He held his breath, puffing out his cheeks in an adorable moment of hesitation before spilling on, “I love you, too.”

… _two bumbled confessions._


	3. Chapter 3

_On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

“This one’s for?”

“The front door…our front door, I should say.”

“And this one?”

“The back door.”

“And…this third one?”

“My study.”

… _three sets of keys_.


	4. Chapter 4

_On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

“That’s it. That is the last time you pick the movie.”

Mycroft adjusted his coat, turning up his collar to the cold as Gregory continued to rant and rave about the film they had just finished.

“I don’t think it was so bad.”

“Do you even look at the bloody info or do you throw a dart and see what it lands on?” Gregory shook his head, “That’s the fourth time. From now on, I pick.” He was grumbling under his breath about boring plotlines and boring characters and, honestly, there hadn’t even been a proper shoot out.

“Perhaps, you might consider that I pick these sorts of films with purpose.” Mycroft had added this stealthily, slipping past Gregory before his boyfriend could react. Though, when he did look back, Gregory’s blush was satisfaction enough.

_…four really bad movies._

 


	5. Chapter 5

_On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

Once behind the closed door of Greg’s office.

Once at a crime scene, when no one was looking.

Once in Sherlock’s flat, while Sherlock and John had been distracted.

Once in the city morgue, while they had both stayed later than the others to further “examine” the evidence.

Once while celebrating over another solved case, another murder locked away.

_…five stolen kisses._


	6. Chapter 6

_On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

“You cannot be serious. This is overkill.”

“One can never be too careful. Not in my line of work. And not in yours, either.” Mycroft’s hand lingered on Gregory’s back. “I would not forgive myself if anything happened to you because of your associate with me.”

_…six security cameras._


	7. Chapter 7

_On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

A whole week? –G

Yes. –M

And you don’t think anyone will…you know, notice? I have work. –G

You are taking time off. –M

… –G

Yeah, alright, I guess I’ve got some leave saved up. Where do you want to go? –G

Oh, I don’t really plan on leaving the house. –M

_…seven nights in._


	8. Chapter 8

_On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

“Where did you even find this?” Greg held a hand over his mouth as he looked at the volumes laid out in matching covers on the desk. He was smiling, his eyes filling with memories. “I haven’t read these since I was a kid…I didn’t think they sold them anymore.”

“Yes, well, I managed to pull a few strings. I was able to find the originals and have them re-bound. I thought the style would be to your taste, though I did instruct that the integrity of the books remain intact throughout the process.”

Greg shook his head. “I don’t even believe it. I mean, truly, I can’t ever think of someone going through all that trouble…and how did you even know?”

“You mention them. I’ve noticed the titles in a few of your childhood pictures. It was an easy leap to assume.”

Greg leapt forward, plucking the eighth—and final book—from the row. “This one was always my favorite. I hated that it was over, but the ending was so good. I had been upset and happy at the same time. Can’t remember too many times that’s happened.” Greg looked up from his present, nostalgia glazing his eyes until he blinked it away. “Thank you, Mycroft. Honestly, thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t have to. It was enough to see you enjoy it.” Mycroft smiled and opened his arms to accept the hug that was suddenly heaped upon him. His form teetered from the force of Greg’s body.

_…eight beloved childhood books._


	9. Chapter 9

_On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

Greg had been in a frenzy over it. He’d nearly pulled his hair out from all the combing he’d done with his fingers. Mycroft had been gracious about the whole thing, but somehow, that was worse. Greg had stormed out of the house that very minute, drowning out Mycroft’s claims that it wasn’t necessary.

“Like bloody hell.” Greg had driven to the store. To several stores. He could not find the right color, the right handle, the right anything. He stormed back hours later and threw an armful of umbrella’s at Mycroft’s feet.

“There.”

“Nine?”

“Yeah. Nine bloody umbrellas. I couldn’t find the right one to match your old one.”

Mycroft had put down his book, steepled his fingers, and considered his husband with calm admiration. “I told you, Gregory, that it was not necessary. It was an accident. I can have the old one fixed. You didn’t need to storm out.”

“Listen, I broke it, I’ll fix it. I fixed it. Here. Pick one. I like the one, there, next to the end. The blue.”

Mycroft bent and picked it up, turning it over in his hand and testing the weight. Greg waited with arms crossed and seething breaths while Mycroft deliberated. “Hm, yes. This one is perfect. Thank you. I suppose I’ll keep the other’s as spares? In case anything like this happens again?”

Greg was grinning as he held up a finger, “Don’t get cheeky.”

_…nine bloody umbrellas._


	10. Chapter 10

_On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

The smoke alarm blared.

The table was set with candles and wine glasses. A table cloth and place settings, everything.

Their plates were still clean, empty.

The chicken sat in the center on its serving platter, the charred remains overpowering the smell of the herbs.

“I’m sure it tastes…fine.” Mycroft smiled, but it did not last.

“Do…do your really think so?” Greg looked up from his fisted hands, a brief spark of hope igniting.

Mycroft leaned across the table, holding out his hand for Greg’s and then squeezing it warmly.

“My dear, I love you. And that is why I will not lie to you. That chicken is likely inedible.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. Take away then?”

Mycroft nodded. “I’ll get the menus.”

“Sorry about this. Again.”

“That’s quite alright. You’ll get it…eventually. What do they say, eleventh time’s the charm?”

_…ten burnt dinners._


	11. Chapter 11

_On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

It wasn’t ever important, they weren’t the type of people to need to touch often. In celebration. In thanks. In welcome or goodbye.

But today, somehow, they had nearly broken their record.

“Wait, you counted?” Gregory laughed.

“I did. And I’ll have you know, this is nearly the most times we’ve hugged in a single day.”

“Huh. I never thought about it much, not the number anyway.”

“I have.”

“And what’s our old record?”

“In a single day? Ten.”

“Well, then, we can’t go leaving it a tie now can we?”

_…eleven hugs in a single day._


	12. Chapter 12

_On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…_

12 happy years and counting…

 

THE END


End file.
